


The Prizefighter and the Heiress

by Wintertree



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Minor Character Death, Light Dom/sub, Non-Sexual Kink, Service Submission, Sparring, Treat, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 05:08:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8237191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wintertree/pseuds/Wintertree
Summary: Bull sighed. That wasn’t fair. She told him to sound the horn, but he asked her first to decide. The moment he looked at her, not Gatt, he had made his choice about his loyalties. A good qunari would have just done what the Qun wanted, not allow for second thoughts or dangerous hesitations.It’s Gatt who knows you’re broken, Hissrad.~“Nothing? Not a single extra rule?”She brushed a light coating of snow off her cuff. “When you’re ready to tap out, you will ask me politely.”“That I can do,” he chuckled, and charged.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [keita52](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keita52/gifts).



> as always, dedicated 2 my bestest friends, sarah & amy, 4 always being there for me (even when they're swamped by work or Hurricane Matthew)
> 
> Explanation for the tags in the end notes
> 
> Title taken from the song title "The Prizefighter and the Heiress" by Johnny Flynn. Honestly I couldn't choose a title and I love this song. For all I know it fits perfectly, but the lyrics confuse the fuck out of me ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ either way it's a cool tune so check it out~

“Let’s camp here for the night?” Adaar asked gently. “We’ll make it to Skyhold in the morning.”

Bull swallowed a growl. “Fine. Whatever you want, Boss.”

 _Asked_. It was all too hesitant and awkward, especially from her. She was a boss, through and through. She would never second-guessing herself and always took the time to be steady in moments that would make others panic. Like he would.

Adaar shrugged and moved aside to talk quietly with Vivienne. They set up a fire, spelling the damp logs to dry. Even after all this time, magic cast close enough to smell the bitter scent of the Fade made the fine hairs on the back of his neck go goddamn crazy.

_She thinks you’re broken._

He pulled off his pack, setting up the tent with fierce efficiency. _No_ , he chided himself, _don’t exaggerate. She wouldn’t keep me around otherwise. Be objective. She’s the one who made the call_.

Bull sighed. That wasn’t fair. She told him to sound the horn, but he asked her first to decide. The moment he looked at her, not Gatt, he had made his choice about his loyalties. A good qunari would have just done what the Qun wanted, not allow for second thoughts or dangerous hesitations.

 _It’s_ Gatt _who knows you’re broken, Hissrad_.

Soft footsteps warned him of Dorian’s approach. “Bull, about what happened on the beach…”

“Maybe later, Dorian,” Bull gritted out. Back still turned to Dorian, he took a calming breath before facing him, adopting a pleasant grin. Dorian was antsy, obviously uncomfortable, glancing everywhere but at Bull. His staff lay back by the fire. Find the blind spot, hit low, he’d try to counter with a mind blast, lunge forward first.

Dorian was still babbling. “I happen to know a bit of shrugging off parents, or, you know, whatever sort of barbaric rearing rituals the Qun—“

“Dorian,” Bull interrupted, smile tight, “shut the fuck up.”

Dorian flushed, cheeks red with embarrassment. He bowed, sharp and quick, and tensely strode away. Bull rubbed his eye, but he had enough on his mind without worrying over some damn ‘vint mage’s feelings. Bull had been barely off that hill before he promised himself that he’d keep it together. Bull even had a whole plan: be upset, but in control. Smile at the boys, shrug at the boss. Keep the rage in check. Beat the shit out of a dummy once he got home.

 _Home_. Bull hit the tent stake with a hard strike. The boys had split off to make a pit stop at that creepy Hessarian camp for supplies. He felt itchy with them out of his sight so soon. Dalish just clapped him on the back and laughed, immediately starting to embellish the tale. Did they even know how _close_ they were to– No. They were a good crew, and damn competent under Krem’s leadership. They could handle a day or two without Bull.

But here he was, day one of being a... of being on his own, and he was already useless.

“Would you like me to hit you with a ‘big stick,’ dear? I can fetch the Inquisitor, if you prefer.” Bull tensed. Fuck, Vivienne could be quiet when she wanted to. _Or maybe you just lost all control._

Bull hit another stake down. “No.” He spun around and strode up to her, using his bulk to crowd over her. Vivienne didn’t so much as flinch. Cruelly, he had hoped she would. He could feel the fury, the _blood_ buzzing under his skin. He wasn’t even sure what was pissing him off, but fuck if he wasn't pissed _off_.

Vivienne considered him. Bull shifted his weight and it seemed to break her concentration. She strode to Adaar’s steed and pulled at the packs’ buckles.

“Come, dear. If your little tantrum is over, I require your aid,” she finally said. “Here.” Bull blinked as Vivienne passed him a bow they had looted from a corpse about a week prior. Sera had sniffed at it, but Adaar (ever the hoarder) shrugged and packed it in case it’d score them a quick coin. It was huge, and heavier than it looked.

“Why?”

Vivienne leveled him with a single quirked eyebrow. “I cannot hold my staff at the same time. Have any more questions?” Her tone suggested he better not. Bull ground his teeth, still feeling that buzzing energy in his bones.

Fine. Bull took the bow.

“Good,” Vivienne said. Brushing off invisible dirt from her robes, she went to retrieve something else. Bull sighed and adjusted his belt. Moments later – long moments – she came back around. “Stop fidgeting.”

Vivienne angled him toward the fire and shuffled him closer to the center of camp. Adaar took Dorian by the arm, walking towards the edge of the clearing to pick herbs. Or more likely, just to get the hell away from him.

“Focus, dear.”

“Ready yet?” Bull snapped.

She grabbed him by the chin. “Do not rush me, The Iron Bull.” She looked him in the eye. He wanted to look away, but her hold was firm and locked him in place. Her hand was also cool, fingertips rougher and more calloused than they looked. Something settled in the bottom of his spine.

“Yes, ma’am,” Bull said.

She released him, taking a step back and to the side. The fire licked the logs in front of him, close enough he could feel the warmth against his chest and the damp evening air cooling his back. It burned steadily, working well enough against the drizzly weather. But it wasn’t too bright for him to fix his eyes against the flames.

 _They could have all died_.

Bull grit his teeth against the thought. _Yeah, dickhead, but they_ didn’t _._

 _They still could. You’re out of control_.

“Higher,” she said, voice firm. Gently, however, she ran her hands down his arm, spreading them out and lifting them shoulder-height.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Bull said automatically.

“Good.”

Bull beat down a shudder, keeping his back straight and feet planted. The bow wasn’t _that_ heavy, but he could already feel the strain trickling in. It’s taxing work, holding yourself against gravity.

“If you need to put it down, call for me first.” She stood in front of him, blocking his view of the fire. “Repeat it, imekari.”

“If I need to put it down, call for you first,” Bull said without hesitating.

With a squeeze on his arm, Vivienne left to go behind him, puttering around through her gear. He didn’t dare turn around. Bull imagined he could feel her gaze, intense and focused, along his back. He licked his lips and held still, arms already straining.

Breath in, breath out.

The fire licked at the logs, heat seeping onto his front and drying his damp boots. Maker’s balls, the bow was heavy.

Little embers sparked off the fire and into the night, hissing and crackling. Slowly, Bull could feel himself floating up, as if the bright spots were him. A couple of the logs were too wet and he counted the pops from the heat.

 _Just let go._ Pop. _You betrayed them._ Pop. _You weren’t even strong enough to betray them yourself._ Pop. _You saved what, a dozen lives? What about the_ dozens _of lives ripped apart? What will happen next time?_

Pop pop pop.

His train of thought shuddered to a halt as a minute tremble rippled through his arms. The strain was almost unbearable. Vivienne’s name rested right behind his teeth, ready to spill out.

Breath in, breath out. Steady.

The pain ebbed but then receded, returning to a background hum. Little thoughts flicked into his mind, but they were small, tiny things. A log split and tumbled in the fire, and he found himself tracking it before the pain shook the fascination loose. He was drifting, hovering in his own body. His legs felt rooted, solid and connected to the ground. Eternity yawned in front of him, the heavy bulk of the bow anchoring him in place.

“Bull.”

He didn’t know when he closed his eyes, but he opened them to Vivienne standing in front of him, eyes unblinking yet kind. “You did well, Bull. You may lower your arms.”

He let the bow drop, catching it last second before it hit the ground. This time placed it down gently, carefully. His arms were shaking, but they felt light. Buoyant. They rose almost against his will. The clear, quiet in his mind was starting to sharpen, but the prickling energy was gone. It would be back, but for now Bull banished that thought from resurfacing. She had asked something of him, and he did it.

Vivienne herded him to his bedroll, hands sure as they rubbed his muscles until pinpricks of blood rushed back in. He stared at his pants, concentrating on the textured cotton weave.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Bull said. He cleared his throat and chuckled. “A dirty trick, using Tama voice against me, but thank you.”

Vivienne passed him a waterskin. “Hush, you controlled yourself well.” Bull snorted. “You do not need to be afraid, Bull.”

“I’m not afraid,” Bull weakly protested. “I’m…” He petered out. The anger he was feeling earlier was gone. Ah fuck, he’d have to grovel to Dorian in the morning. Whatever it was that ticked him off earlier, it had left a muted hole instead of an angry hot ball.

“That’s enough, Bull. I wouldn’t want to break you by requiring you to form ‘words’ or ‘sentences,’” she said, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Still, he could notice a slight furrow of worry in her brow.

Bull shifted onto his back, a wave of exhaustion rolling up behind his eyes.

“Hey, Viv?”

“Yes, dear?” she sniffed, kindly letting him get away with it for now.

“You ever do want to hit me with a big stick, just let me know. Your back straight, laying thick, heavy strikes against me? Oh _yeah_ ,” Bull moaned, “that really works for me.”

Bull grinned as she flicked his forehead for his impertinence, but the crease between her eyes somewhat relaxed. She idly stroked swirls into his skin, and soon he was lulled to sleep.

* * *

Vivienne followed The Iron Bull briskly, not “stomping” like a child. She had been in the middle of writing a letter to her dear Bastien’s Laurent when the man practically dragged her outside.

Finally, he slowed to a stop, surveying the clearing. It was clear of debris and fallen logs, about a ten-minute walk from Skyhold. A blanket of freshly fallen snow covered the ground.

“Is there a reason for standing in the cold, darling, or am I allowed to return with my toes attached?” Looking down, Vivienne noticed an ink stain along the hem of her robes. How long had it been there? Who else had noticed? How long had she been letting herself go? She looked back up at Bull, hoping he hadn’t followed her eye-line.

“Just thought you might like some sparring practice to let out some tension, ma’am.”

“The Iron Bull, I am not _tense_.” This was ridiculous. She already spent all morning trying to compose that one letter, and she head dozens more to send out, both business and private matters. There were some spats between the refugee mages and the rebel mages, and if she didn’t resolve matters quickly, Cullen would send his dour and heavy-handed lieutenants in to “mediate.” She didn’t need to be led out to some dirty clearing in the back end of Fereldan.

“Alright,” Bull said, slowly closing his one eye in a horrid performance of a wink, “Viv.”

Her eyes narrowed.

Bull’s grin spread wide and syrupy. “Ground rules: none of that mind-horror shit Dorian does. Just… no mind-shit in general. And no permanent damage. You want to tap out, you say ‘Katoh.’ Missed anything?”

He was standing relaxed, but still. Too still. Vivienne grit her teeth. He could charge any moment, quickly strike out with his great-sword, and she had to be careful very _careful_ , because if he got _one_ solid—

“No.”

“Nothing? Not a single extra rule?”

She brushed a light coating of snow off her cuff. “When _you’re_ ready to tap out, you will ask me politely.”

“That I can do,” he chuckled, and charged.

There was no time to evade, so she ran forward, sliding into the Fade and stepping through him like warm margarine. Bull shivered, but Vivienne struck out again, quickly, placing ice mines around his feet.

Bull struck low. She felt more than heard her spirit sword dampening the strike, reverberating up her arm and clattering her teeth. She ran backwards, never letting him out of her direct line of sight. Bull cursed and ran through the ice mines, triggering them into coating his legs with a nasty layer of ice. He roared and continued to charge after her, ice snapping and flaking off.

_It will be alright, love._

She struck out again, banishing Bastien’s feeble image from her mind. She conjured up the Fade within her, feeling it’s warm energy build and bubble in her chest, her barrier getting stronger with each solid strike.

Bull pulled back his arm and she recognized it as the build-up to one of his heaviest blows. Enchanter Sophia rose up in her mind, her thin yet wiry arms gripping Vivienne hard enough to bruise her childhood body. Vivienne feinted and let the momentum spiral her away to safety.

 _Quickly, Vivienne! Practice it again, faster! You’re smart but_ weak _. If they get hold of you, just once, they’ll–_

An elbow struck her from her blind spot and she stumbled back, staff going flying. Something warm trickled down her face, but she ignored it. Vivienne panted heavily, wildly pacing. It was all spiraling out of her control. Bull approached her steady and quiet. A predator.

_You don’t need me, my darling, you never did._

Vivienne wanted to scream at Bastien, shake him until his teeth rattled. _Of course I need you!_  But she just kissed his papery cheek instead.

Bull lunged but she dodged. Quickly, faster. She grabbed her staff and let off charge of electricity. He shuddered, just enough to let her push towards him with her spirit sword casting warm yellow light into the clearing.

_What good are you, with your silly titles and silly robes? You’re just like Sophia. Tall and strong and full of advice until she crumpled like silk fighting an abomination._

Vivienne growled at her own doubts. Confident and focused was more useful than childish worries and insecurities. She dropped into a defensive stance.

 _Wham_! Her barrier grew just the slightest bit thicker. _Wham_! The cool, bitter smell prickled her nose as her defenses pulsed. _Wham_! She focused on hitting with purpose, hitting _smarter_ , picking a target and destroying it calmly, methodically.

It all slowly slotted into place. Her magic coursed through her, emboldening each strike with confidence. Bull feinted, but Vivienne didn’t take the bait, letting him become unbalanced. Instead of hitting with her staff, she pushed in tight and placed her hand on his chest.

With a whoof of air, Bull seized up as Vivienne cast a strong binding spell against his bare skin. He tumbled to the ground, hard, but she stayed tight and close, never breaking contact.

Bull struggled. She shushed him, placing her other hand on his brow, calming him. He out another small puff of air as she tightened the hold, pulling him slightly more taut.

After all that, the silence in the clearing was quite nearly overwhelming. There was a rustle in the woods as a ram grew close and scattered. Vivienne breathed, willing her speeding heart to calm. She swallowed thickly, unwilling to speak until she knew she could control her voice. Finally, she leaned down to her friend.

“Politely,” she murmured.

Bull opened his eye and spoke, voice deep and rough, “Please, ma’am.”

Vivienne released the magic, and they both melted boneless onto the ground. She hit him lightly on the chest with the back of her hand.

“Up, darling,” she said. She bundled him up as best she could with his size, and pulling him into an upright position. She placed a hand on his broad back, calling upon heat to rub it into his skin, relaxing the muscles.

She was grateful for his silence, his company. Hot tears rolled down her face. How strange. She hadn’t cried yet, not since Bastien passed, and now it was all flowing out as soon as she stopped feeling sorry for herself. She must look a complete mess. The robes were already filthy, so she didn’t hesitate to wipe dried blood away from her nose onto the cuff.

Vivienne would prefer to sneak through the kitchens when they got back, but it was still light out and cooks were worse gossips than handmaidens. Blessedly, Bull made no indication that he noticed. Really, sometimes Bull was the most tender of liars.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“No, The Iron Bull,” Vivienne said, kissing him gentle on the temple, “thank _you_.”

**Author's Note:**

> I put "under-negotiated" because it's, well, under-negotiated. Bull & Vivienne are also dealing with incredibly amounts of stress, grief, and emotional strain. That being said, they're both adults, good friends, know & trust each other, consent to their activities, and enjoy the experiences. 
> 
> ~
> 
> So this fic is of course prompted by the lovely keita52! It turns out I can't write longfic for beans, but I hope what I lack in depth I can make out in breadth.
> 
> I just... love Bull & Viv. The fic kind of ran away from both me. I just wanted to write something that explored their own anxieties wrapped up around feeling in control and feeling "useful."
> 
> This also couldn’t have existed w/o "Stuck on the Puzzle" by thespectaclesofthor, a true masterpiece (seriously, go look it up) (http://archiveofourown.org/works/5269628/chapters/12159332) (I'll wait). Even though it's not Bull/Viv, the smattering of Viv scenes give me absolute life, and there's a certain wrestling scene gave me some inspo for the last bit in this fic.


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